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Okay, I’d let my darkest desires out for a while. Now they could damn well go back into hiding until I called them again.
So I set up her little circular timber table in the garden, dusted it, and arranged the two wrought iron chairs, the candles, and the lacy white tablecloth that matched her flowing dress. I took five minutes to just breathe and still my trembling hands.
Then I brought her out.
At my gesture, she hesitantly sat, sweeping her dress from beneath her out of the way of the chair.
This Indonesian-style dress I’d found in the usual place except this one was demure and ended in a hem that sloped sideways from knee to calf. Gold stitching decorated the front. A row of cloth-covered white buttons closed it all the way to her waist. Her breasts threatened to burst from the scooped neckline if she inhaled too hard.
She was beautiful.
And I yearned to tear the dress from her. I bunched my fists.
Simmer down. Count. Count to fifty. Math came to my rescue. By fifty I still had a steel-hard erection but I was calmer.
Never had I had this problem before. I was set in my ways, I guess. A month of fucking her when I wanted, making her my slave, and I regarded her as property, to do with as I wanted.
“Stay there, please,” I growled. Then I walked away.
We were barefoot, but I’d dressed in a button-down shirt and black pants. The Thai restaurant had done a great selection of food, and I dished it up and took it out to where I’d told her to sit – with her back to the sea and the clifftop twenty yards beyond. I poured the chilled white wine into the glass goblets. Dusk closed in as we ate. The candles blew out in the wind and the full moon shone down on us, bathing Jodie in silver.
Neither of us did more than nibble. Despite her attempts to beat me to it, I gathered the dishes, piled them. I stood there gripping the dirty plates and cutlery and said the words I’d held within for the last half an hour.
“When I return, we will talk. You…may talk.”
The moon had risen enough that I could see how still she was, but with one hand she toyed with the white tablecloth, and with the other she turned her goblet like jerky clockwork.
When I returned, she remained mute. The chair under me crunched and settled in the sandy soil as I shifted my weight.
“You can talk,” I said again, enunciating the words carefully, hoping she’d find something to say. Though her lips moved, she merely stared at the table then at me, as if I were something new and terrifying.
The answer dawned on me. I’d imagined this experience had forged a soul-deep bond between us.
But, this situation was so foreign, so out-there, that once exposed in the real world, it would shatter. I knew her from many past conversations, and she knew me. I could list how she took her coffee, what she liked doing on days off, her favorite sport and movies. And she could do the same for me. Yet we hadn’t conversed for a month. I’d made myself her Master and her my slave and that had made us both strangers to each other despite our profound intimacy.
There must be a way to bridge the gap? Discussing the documentary would be so so wrong. Tomorrow, daytime, business-time, for that. This and now was personal.
I’d delved into, gloried in, my fantasies more than hers. I’d never asked her what she wanted since that first day.
“Jodie.” I waited.
“Yes?”
“I want to know your fantasies. Tell me. Apart from your capture fantasies.”
She made a small noise and shrugged in a way that spoke of uncertainty. I took her hand, marveling again at the delicacy of her bones and muscles when contrasted with mine. When she tried to pull away, I laid my other hand over the top. “Stay. Let me hold you.” One last time? Perhaps.
I was scrambling for common ground. Tomorrow I might lose her. In the back of my head, a little part of me despaired. The contact of skin on skin calmed me though, and her too perhaps? Her shoulders lowered and she focused on how I enfolded her hand.
The worn groove of our Master-and-slave arrangement was proving difficult for both of us to escape from.
“Tell me. Tell me, now. “
“Do I have to?” So quiet.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She pouted then sucked in a deep breath. I wanted to shake her to get her to answer. I was good. I waited, and I waited, stroking her hand.
